


Bedtime Stories

by Impressioniste



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-09
Updated: 2014-02-09
Packaged: 2018-01-11 17:03:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 769
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1175595
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Impressioniste/pseuds/Impressioniste
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fluffy domestic nonsense.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bedtime Stories

Anders rolled over in bed, shifting from his back to his side, clutching the coverlet up around his chin in a drowsy haze. He’d nodded off at least three times and finally nearly dropped facedown on his dinner plate, so Hawke had sent him ahead to bed while he finished his own meal, promising to be along soon.

The dimming fireplace sent light and shadow flickering back and forth across the room as Anders sighed and fought to stay awake for just a few more minutes, at least until Hawke slipped into bed beside him. He was still wearing half of his clothes—he hadn’t had the energy to fully undress—but at least he’d managed to shuck the boots and pauldrons before tumbling onto the soft mattress and wrapping the blankets around himself.

He wasn’t sure how long he lay there, hypnotized by the firelight, but eventually the dog came padding in, whimpering softly for his master.

"Shoo," Anders mumbled softly, but the dog did not obey. Instead, he nudged at Anders’ blanketed form on the bed with a plaintive, pathetic whine.

"I don’t know what’s keeping him, either," Anders groused as the dog relented, snorted, and curled up quietly in front of the fire for warmth.

He held out valiantly for a few more minutes against his body’s will, but by the time Hawke finally slipped into the bedroom and gently shut the door behind him, he found himself greeted by the sound of two sets of gentle snoring, in counterpoint.

Hawke stoked the dying fire, which roused the dog, though a few moments of gentle petting and rubs between the ears quickly sated and soothed his hunger for attention, and he contentedly returned to sleep.

Eyeing the bed as he stripped down to his smallclothes, Hawke tried to determine if it was possible to slide himself in without waking Anders. Gentle petting and rubs between the ears worked well enough on the dog, but generally didn’t work _quite_ the same way on his partner.

Anders lay sprawled across his side of the bed and halfway into Hawke’s, partially facedown in his pillows, with one arm thrust out across the vacant half. Hawke gingerly lifted Anders’ arm and lowered himself onto the mattress, trying to slip underneath both it and the coverlet without disturbing him.

Just when he thought he was in the clear, Anders shifted and sighed, his eyelids fluttering gently, heavy with sleep. Hawke sighed at his failed sneak attempt and let Anders’ arm drop, only to have Anders slip it around his waist and pull him close.

"I’m sorry, Orana talked my ear off when I offered to help her clear the table," he said, ruffling his fingers through Anders’ hair, which was loose, spread out against the pillows.

"You’d make a terrible rogue," Anders mumbled half-coherently, pressing his stubble-rough cheek against Hawke’s smooth shoulder. "You can’t even sneak into bed."

"I’ll count my blessings," Hawke replied, chuckling softly despite himself, continuing without missing a beat, "but you’re forgetting that I _did_ quite roguishly manage to steal your heart.”

"You’ve been spending too much time at the Hanged Man with Varric," Anders sighed.

"Possibly. Doesn’t make it any less true," Hawke grinned, turning to face him, leaning in and planting a kiss on his lips. Anders leaned into it, reciprocating eagerly as Hawke rubbed his thumb in little affectionate circles against the back of his hand.

"You can’t steal something given freely, love," Anders smiled tiredly as they parted, "and you’re changing the subject. That’s never a good sign." He raised an eyebrow in suspicion. " _Please_ , for the love of Andraste, tell me we’re not going to end up in a book.”

"Do I have to tell the truth?" Hawke replied, though he knew he was pressing his luck.

“ _Hawke_.” Anders did not sound pleased.

"Don’t worry, I didn’t tell him anything too… private."

"What **did** you tell him?” Anders pressed.

Hawke paused for a moment, his hand sliding to rest at the small of Anders’ back. “Are you sure you want to know?”

"Hawke, as long as you didn’t tell him we were swinging from the chandelier—"

"No, no. That was Merrill."

“ _Hawke_.”

"All right, all right," Hawke replied mildly, clearing his throat. "Just remember that I was _quite_ drunk at the time, and I—”

“ **Hawke**.”

"It… _might_ have been something about… sandwiches.”

Anders wanted to respond in words, he truly did, could only just barely manage to choke back a laugh before deliberately and affectionately taking Hawke’s scruffy cheeks in both his hands and kissing the sheepish grin right off his face.


End file.
